


Mashiara

by Insomnia_Productions



Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [10]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: 3+1 times, Fluff and Humor, Humor, I used the Tumblr Old Tongue dictionary for this, M/M, Miscommunication, Moiraine is So Done, Old tongue, POV Moiraine, as always, based on friend art :), language barriers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 16:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: Moiraine picks out the key words. Something about foolishness, oblivious idiots, and Mat going insane. She would laugh, except, this time, Rand seems to pick something up too. His face twists.“If you’re going to call me crazy, at least say it to my face.”Moiraine closes her eyes and thinks of the Pattern.Is this the Dragon Reborn?she asks it.Really? This one?The Pattern doesn’t respond..Or: Mat has taken to muttering romantic things about Rand in the Old Tongue. Rand, who knows exactly one (1) word in the Old Tongue, thinks he's being insulted. Moiraine understands everything, and wishes she didn't.
Relationships: Rand al'Thor/Mat Cauthon
Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1415056
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	Mashiara

**Author's Note:**

  * For [matthew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matthew/gifts).

  1. ** Firelight**

The soft sunflower glow of the fire hints at warm reprieve from the cold night air of the Waste. But it has been decades, or more, since Moiraine has let anything as transient as cold or heat touch her. Still, as she stands a few paces away from the crackling flames, she has to resist tugging on the ends of her woolen shawl, and  _ that _ has nothing at all to do with the cold. 

It’s just so  _ awkward.  _

Moiraine is quite sure she has never felt awkward in her life. Perhaps, once or twice, in the Tower, with Siuan, late during those twilight hours when they were supposed to be asleep… 

A smile touches her lips at the memory, gone as soon as she notices it is there. That was a different time, when there were no higher consequences that having to spend another week scrubbing pots. It could be her life, still, if she wanted—back in the Tower of her girlhood, teaching Novices, handing out the punishments she had so frequently earned in her time. Yet, somehow, when she looks around her, Moiraine finds she does not regret choosing the life she has. 

Except, that is, right now. 

Moiraine hazards a glance towards the fire. They are doing it again. Mat is sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, gazing across the fire at Rand, who sits on the other side, legs crossed and eyes fixed on some distant star. After a few moments, Mat looks down, and, slowly, Rand’s gaze travels to him and lingers. A few moments later, they switch again. Moiraine cannot tell if they have realized—if this is some kind of complicated Two Rivers courtship—or if they are just that oblivious. Considering her time with the two young men, she is strongly leaning towards the latter. 

Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, Moiraine turns back to the empty desert. It is a bland sight, its beauty smothered by darkness, but anything is better than the alternative. She considers returning to her tent. And then, into the silence, a voice. 

She almost can’t tell that it is Mat—surely he has never spoken so softly in his life—yet no one else is here and Rand certainly cannot speak the Old Tongue. She is not sure how Mat can, for that matter—but he can, and he does. It has been many years since Moiraine studied the long-forgotten language, but she catches a few words. 

_ Asa... nabir... n’am...  _

_ You… fire… beautiful…  _

Rand startles at his childhood friend’s voice; finally, they look at each other at the same time. 

“Did you say something?” 

Mat shakes his head. Rand considers him for a moment, then shrugs as though shaking something off his shoulders. They return to gazing across the fire at each other in broken synchronization. Moiraine bites back a sigh, turns, and walks back to her tent. She wonders, as she closes her eyes, if they will stay there like that all night. She suspects they just might. 

  
  


  1. ** Longing**

They’ve been riding for hours under a vengeful sun. It’s the same routine as every day. Moiraine hasn’t had a proper wetland bath in months. But she doesn’t think about that; Aes Sedai do not think about baths. 

What Moiraine is thinking about now is the Dragon and his poor life choices, which she is currently riding over to lecture him about. Rand is seated on his horse at the head of the long column of Aiel, surveying the dunes ahead. Moiraine slows as she approaches him from the left; Mat is at his right, his gaze fixed firmly on Rand. His face is shadowed by that wide-brimmed hat, and Moiraine cannot make out his expression. They sit in silence, their horses nickering quietly at each other, long brown noses bumping together. Moiraine wishes, distantly, that their riders would learn a thing or two from them. 

As she comes to a stop, Moiraine sees that Rand is not really looking at the desert. His eyes are glazed over, like glass dulled by water. There are dark circles dragging his eyes and his face looks pale for being in sun this strong. He looks exhausted. He looks like Death given form. He looks like a dragon without its fire—at least, Moiraine thinks dragons and fire are related, somehow. Perhaps it was something in some book she read long ago… 

His lips are moving constantly, incessantly, but no sound comes out. She cannot pick out words in their shape; she wonders, briefly, if he is actually saying anything at all. This close, close enough to see the freckles that have formed on Rand’s face, she can finally see Mat’s expression. The shadows over his face suit it well. His brows are drawn, eyes dark and narrow. A red spot has begun to grow on his lower lip, where he keeps worrying it with his teeth. He watches Rand without blinking. It’s almost unnerving. 

Quietly, voice touched with longing, he murmurs something in the Old Tongue. Moiraine strains to catch his words. 

_ Totah... asa... niende... no...  _

_ Far… you… lost… me…  _

Rand blinks, then, and light seems to return to his eyes. Slowly, he straightens in his sadly, head turning towards Mat. “You said something.” Not a question this time. 

Mat flushes. “I said you’re going mad already,” he says, already turning his horse. He doesn’t see Rand’s face fall. Moiraine does, but it’s back to smooth stone when he looks at her. 

“Yes?” 

Moiraine sighs. There will be no listening from him today. Cursing Mat under breath, she turns her horse. “Never mind. We’ll talk this evening.” 

Rand is already looking at the dunes. But his eyes are sharp and sad and, as she leaves, Moiraine catches his gaze traveling back to Mat and staying there. Someday, she tells herself. Someday, they will work this out. 

  
  


  1. ** Insanity **

Three weeks later, Moiraine is beginning to lose all faith in the Dragon Reborn and his general. 

Mat is sitting on a low stool, surveying a map of the valley below. The paper is dotted with little figures. Every so often, Mat hums to himself and moves a piece. He looks tired—tired enough that he did not protest when Rand pulled him into his tent to discuss battle plans should the Shaido try to ambush them once they begin the journey down. Rand, for his part, looks equally tired if not more. He paces the tent behind Mat, one hand held behind his back, the other thumbing his lip as he mutters to himself. 

Abruptly, Rand spins and bends over Mat, eyes flitting over the map. Mat stiffens; they are all but cheek to cheek. A blink, and he has straightened again and returned to pacing the tent. 

“I think we should have the Wise Ones stay at the flank. They can attack long distance if need be. Aes Sedai should stay with us, for defense, but we’ll need men watching after them in case of a direct attack…” 

Rand keeps talking, but Moiraine does not think Mat is listening. He is staring at the map, cheeks flushed, and there is something like pain in his narrowed eyes. His mouth is in a very thin line, as though barely holding back words he doesn’t want to say. It takes a long few moments but, eventually, Rand notices, too. He trails off. 

“Mat? Are you alright?” Mat waves him off and Rand frowns. “You’re flushed. Do you need some water? It’s unusually warm today.” Receiving only a blank stare in response, Rand shifts. “I could… I could try channeling some cool air?” 

Mat’s mouth opens, then closes, and then he turns back to the map. Under his breath, he mutters,  _ “Dival, sin ga narfa. Iqet gemarise mi souvra niende.”  _

Moiraine picks out the key words. Something about foolishness, oblivious idiots, and Mat going insane. She would laugh, except, this time, Rand seems to pick something up too. His face twists. 

“If you’re going to call me crazy, at least say it to my face.” 

Mat’s eyes grow sad, but he says nothing, onlys sighs the sigh of one who has suffered too long, and goes back to the map. Rand frowns at him and turns away. 

Moiraine closes her eyes and thinks of the Pattern.  _ Is this the Dragon Reborn?  _ she asks it.  _ Really? This one? _

The Pattern doesn’t respond. 

  
  


**+1 **

She leaves a book in Rand’s tent, an old tome she has been using to translate the Old Tongue she finds inscribed on the relics pulled out of Rhuidean. It’s the only thing she can think to do short of shaking sense into him herself. Which, of course, Aes Sedai don’t do. 

It’s another three days before anything happens. But, as always with Rand al’Thor, when it finally does happen, it  _ happens.  _

She’s sitting in a tent with Egwene and Mat. No one is speaking; it’s far too hot. Even Moiraine feels slightly uncomfortable in this weather. Egwene is trying very hard to pretend she is unbothered. Mat, unhindered by pride or dignity, has loosed his shirt halfway to his stomach and is fanning himself with his hat. 

They have been sitting like this, without change, for close to thirty minutes when the tent flaps suddenly burst open. Moiraine’s fingers twitch. Egwene lets out a startled yelp and then tries to act as if she didn’t. Mat sits up slowly, still fanning himself. Rand stands in the tent entrance, the book clutched in his hand. His eyes flit over the room and he hones in on Mat, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. Moiraine doesn’t think she’s seen him smile in weeks—it looks lovely on him. 

He says, in terrible pronunciation of the Old Tongue,  _ “Ye mashi asa.”  _

Moiraine doesn’t have any trouble understanding that. 

_ I love you.  _

Mat’s whole demeanor changes. He straightens, eyes widening, flushed, the corners of his lips curving up. He drops the hat, scrambles to his feet, and, grinning madly, drags Rand out of the tent. 

Moiraine doesn’t see either of them again until dinnertime. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Bonus: What Mat Said
> 
> 1\. You look so beautiful in the firelight. 
> 
> 2\. You are so far away from me now. I feel like I’m losing you. 
> 
> 3\. Light, he’s so oblivious. It’s going to drive me insane. (From @glorthelions)   
(Although the literal translation of what I wrote is: Light, he is foolish. This makes my mind lost.) 
> 
> //
> 
> This work is a gift for Matthew, aka @glorthelions on Tumblr, who gave me this idea and also made an AMAZING artwork. This fic is about a month late, but I hope you like it <3
> 
> As for the title: "Mashiara" means "My Love" in the Old Tongue - and I absolutely love it. can someone please date me so that i can use that word——


End file.
